Indiana Farm in Winter

I entered into the world of uber-technology…I watched a movie on Netflix. Now this was not just ordinary Netflix, like anyone can do by getting movies in the mail. No, this was on my newly installed AppleTV Netflix with it’s own remote control device and onscreen menu. I wish I was a little more nerdy, so I could have appreciated what was happening.

Excitement was building as I looked over from the deep cocoon-like encumbrances of my recliner to my wife, whose eyes had seen enough of the day, or enough of me, by 9:00 PM. She was on the express train to Nod.

At the very moment when the basis of all human knowledge and entertainment was liberated from the fortified stronghold of her clutches (she gave up the teevee remote), I knew I could watch anything available to me from filmdom’s bounty. But alas, as if I had an HBO or Showtime free weekend, there was not much there to hold my interest.

In the midst of an eastern Kentucky January, the sun is about as rare as a good movie on the menu I was perusing. So I was looking for something light and comedic and cheery to help coax me from the precipice of seasonal affective disorder. So naturally I decided to watch a little Swedish film noir with subtitles about dealing with those pesky, lovable scamps called Nazis. This lively romp takes place in the late 1930’s when Sweden was trying to stay neutral as Germany came a callin’ on Finland. For some reason, no other colors were added to the winter blues.

I took this photo of an Indiana farm in the midst of winter last year. I like the loneliness of the barn in the field. I like the feel of desolateness.

My wife and I went to Indiana this past weekend to see our daughter and our Hoosier son-in-law. My son-in-law, whom I love dearly, complains that I only take pictures of Indiana that look dark and dreary. Since he moved my only daughter to Indiana, I say “One man’s happiness is another man’s sorrow”.